


September 10th - “Look A New Day Has Begun”

by geekoncaffeine



Series: On Tuesday’s We Are Decidedly CLOSED [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Anal Sex, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Baking, Baking Mishap, Blow Jobs, Cooking, Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Dinner, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Musical References, Other, Stressed Crowley (Good Omens), They Finally Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekoncaffeine/pseuds/geekoncaffeine
Summary: Aziraphale busied himself cleaning the shop and organizing his latest acquisitions, including titles from Dickens, Brontë (Anne and Emily, not Charlotte), and Shelley (Percy, not Mary). He had been rather thrilled to locate all the first editions. But would he be able to part with them? No, probably not…he rather enjoyed his public-private library after all.As he paused to make a cup of cocoa in the back room, he noted with some dismay that his couch was decidedly empty of her usual occupant.





	September 10th - “Look A New Day Has Begun”

**Author's Note:**

> My neverending thanks to [ goddessinsepia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessinsepia/pseuds/goddessinsepia) for her beta work and her encouragement through the whole series.
> 
> We've reached the end readers...though There may be additional drop-ins to the shop now and again. Thank you for the kudos and comments readers.
> 
> Obviously, I do not own the rights to Memory from Cats...that's all Sir ALW. But I thought it fit our favorite demon perfectly.

Aziraphale busied himself cleaning the shop and organizing his latest acquisitions, including titles from Dickens (not Dickinson), Brontë (Anne and Emily, not Charlotte), and Shelley (Percy, not Mary). He had been rather thrilled to locate all the first editions. But would he be able to part with them? No, probably not…he rather enjoyed his public-private library after all.

As he paused to make a cup of cocoa in the back room, he noted with some dismay that his couch was decidedly empty of her usual occupant. Yes, Crowley had invited him round to dinner that evening, but why was that keeping him from popping by now? It was Tuesday after all… Aziraphale took a moment to ring his boyfriend… wasn’t that a nice thing… yes, yes it was. However, a familiar message picked up: “You’ve reached Anthony Crowley, you know what to do. Do it with style…”. 

**Meanwhile at an apartment in Mayfair**

The phone in the office rang, unanswered, but recorded the following message: “Right, it’s me. Ah… just checking in. Thought we’d be meeting up before dinner this evening. see you later my dear.”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Crowley shouted to no one in particular. Two rooms away his plants trembled, which they hadn’t done in at least a month. They weren’t sure why, but they most certainly were not complaining. But old habits die hard and the plants were back to being just the slightest bit concerned. 

Why had he agreed to make the angel a meal? He hadn’t cooked in years. Make that a century… or four. He hardly ate himself unless Aziraphale pushed him to try whatever he was eating. He did enjoy watching Aziraphale eat, he knew no one else who enjoyed food more, who didn’t actually need to eat. And there it was. He was doing it for Aziraphale. 

Crowley consulted his cookbooks and noted ingredients needed for his selected courses. So far he had selected oysters for the appetizer, a wedge salad with assorted vegetables, applewood smoked bacon, and honey mustard inspired dressing.* Next a balsamic glazed salmon with lemon zest and sides of whipped potatoes and roasted Brussel sprouts. Those were easy enough for him to make. They were two of his signature dishes, but dessert was giving him a problem. He wanted something sweet, yet different. 

Taking out his phone and opened the Pinterest app and started scrolling.** Crowley chuckled as he scrolled. How the fuck was he supposed to make some of this shit? It would be easy enough to snap into existence, but where was the challenge there?

Then he found it a Gâteau St Honoré, perfect.*** He recalled they’d tried one in 1850 some three years after it had been invented. Named for the Patron Saint of Pastry Chefs, it would be perfect even if it was named after a saint. At least Aziraphale would get a kick out of it. Crowley jotted down the ingredients needed for one, and also for an opera cake (to get his skills back). Finishing his list, he tucked his phone back in his pocket and headed out to the shops. If only he’d read the recipe...

Three hours and Go- Sat- somebody knows how many shops later, Crowley returned to his flat to start on the two desserts. His plan was to sample the opera cake in two hours and if that passed muster, he was grand. If it didn’t, he was fucked and so was Mary Berry. He adored Berry and Hollywood, but he wasn’t above minor smiting if this didn’t work. 

Right, opera cake. Easy enough wasn’t it? Sure, the poor sods on The Great British Bake-off couldn’t do it, but they were amateurs compared to him. In fact, this was a cake he had made many times before, with no demonic intervention needed. He was just a bit out of practice and his ganache was not going well. The gloss was more of a matte, and that would not do. “Dammit, breathe Crowley, breathe.”****

He pulled his jaconde sponge from the oven before taking another crack at the ganache. It should be the easiest bit of this mess, but he was losing his shit over the chocolate. Crowley was honestly seconds from just snapping it perfect in order to move on to the Gâteau St Honoré, which he would truly need what time he had left to continue. “Fuck thisss.” Crowley snapped his fingers and the ganache looked perfect and he had also done the crème au beurre. Whoops. Shit happens.

Once the sponge was cool, he set to assembling the cake. This part was easy, no snapping required. First, he placed one of the sponges on a cake board and brushed with one-quarter of the kirsch syrup. Then he spread over one-third of the crème au beurre, which was then topped with another sponge and brushed with one-quarter of the kirsch syrup. Finally, he spread over the ganache. 

He wasn’t done yet. Mary Berry was a sadist, he thought as he kept on assembling the opera cake. Meaning a third layer of sponge and another one-quarter of the kirsch syrup along with another third of the crème au beurre and finally the last piece of sponge. Then another brush of the rest of the kirsch syrup and remaining crème au beurre. Finally, he arranged the raspberries over the top and the melted butter added to glaze. Once it was in the refrigerator to set, he took a breath.*****

That had been rather tedious, but it was done and he felt confident in his ability to move on to the bigger cake. Though he was half tempted to leave it at the Opera Cake and forget the Gâteau St Honoré all together. Unfortunately for Crowley, he was a stubborn bastard and was determined to impress the angel.

Crowley checked the time and cursed under his breath. He had hoped to run the Opera Cake by the bookshop for a taste test, but now he realized this was not going to be possible. Well, he’d see Aziraphale soon enough wouldn’t he? Time to get cracking on the meal, as well as the Gâteau St Honoré. 

Two hours later, the kitchen was a disaster and so was Crowley’s mood. His jacket had been tossed over a chair, his shirtsleeves rolled and pushed past his elbows. Flour and sugar lightly dusted his shirt. He needed to calm down if he was going to pull off this meal. So he opted to put on some music from one of his favorite musicals, Cats.******* 

As the overture began, he took a look at the time, muttered another curse, and pressed on. By the time “Macavity The Mystery Cat” ended and “Mr. Mistoffelees” began Crowley found he was actually doing rather well on time. His oysters were shucked and chilling, along with his salad course. The potatoes were whipped and the salmon and sprouts were nearly ready to come out of the oven. Which left only the Gâteau St Honoré to finish.

After two false starts on his choux pastry, Crowley piped his little choux buns that would top the cake. With the last bun in place, he swapped salmon and sprouts for the choux. This left him 20 minutes to prep the filling for the cake. He whisked the custard with the double cream until it formed soft peaks when the whisk is removed. Next, he added the orange liqueur and whisked that in until firm peaks formed. Now he spooned one-third of the mixture into a piping bag fitted with a small nozzle.

This cake was actually going better than he expected. Crowley was now convinced contestants on GBBO were just babies who couldn’t be arsed to take on a challenge. He removed the choux from the oven, before he moved on to the 10th step, making the caramel for decoration. This would be where everything went pear-shaped…

Downstairs, Aziraphale arrived right on time carrying a bottle of Yvon Metras Fleurie Cuvee l’Ultime, which he imagined would pair well with whatever Crowley had prepared for dinner. He raised a hand to ring the bell, but the door swung open for him as if Crowley knew he was here. He stepped inside and went in search of his dear boy. As he came up the stairs he heard the opening lines of a familiar tune. 

_"Midnight, not a sound from the pavement_  
Has the moon lost her memory?  
She is smiling alone…” 

He thought it a bit of an odd choice for Crowley until he listened to the rest of the song build. Aziraphale realized that in fact, it described his love to a T. His heart broke ever so slightly for the demon. He brushed away a tear that slipped down his cheek. Taking a deep breath, he wandered down the hall to where he heard the music coming from and quite a bit of cursing.

“Fuuuuuck me why is this so fucking difficult?” Crowley threw his third pan of burn caramel into the sink with a clatter.

“Crowley?” 

_Fuck_ Aziraphale was early. No, double-fuck he was right on time. FUCK! Without thinking, his wings sprung from his back to cover most of what he was doing. 

_“Daylight_  
I must wait for the sunrise  
I must think of a new life  
And I mustn't give in…” 

“Oh my dear, your wings.” He took a step further into the kitchen to get a better look at them. He had seen them before of course but hadn’t bothered to really look at them until now. They were a beautiful ebony color with hints of greens at the edges. However, they looked as if they hadn’t been tended to in years. Some feathers were bent or nearly broken. They were in need of some tending to, and Aziraphale doubted Crowley would take the time to see to them.

“No peeking at what I’m up to, angel.” Crowley threw a glance over his shoulder at Aziraphale. He was determined to finish that fucking cake if it killed him. Honestly, it just might. He was about to take down another pot when he felt a hand on his wing. 

“Crowley? Please stop and look at me, my dear.”

Crowley did as he was asked. His shirt was worse for wear and covered in flour and sticky bits of caramel. He was a mess in more ways than one. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale tried not to chuckle at the sight of Crowley. He’d never seen him like this. “Oh my dear, let’s get you tidied up.”

Crowley looked down at himself. He was a mess, but there was this bloody fucking cake to finish up. “Can’t. Nearly done. Needs to be perfect for you.” He started to turn back to the mess but Aziraphale grabbed his wrist. 

“It’ll keep, now… uh… bedroom?”

Crowley blinked. Surely he hadn’t heard him correctly. He had it in mind that the evening would hopefully lead there, though not like this. “Uh… yeah, this…uh… this way.” He led him out down the hall to his bedroom. It was a rather spacious room with a king-sized bed covered in black silk sheets and duvet. A sleek white dresser, as well as a pair of night tables, were on either side of the bed. Doors to a bathroom and a closet were on the opposite wall. 

“Right then, why don’t you remove your vest and shirt, get something new, and I’ll go gather a few things from your bath.” Without waiting for an answer, Aziraphale headed off through the bathroom door. 

Crowley removed his clothes and tossed them in the corner. Aziraphale returned to find him bare-chested, wings still out and slightly dropped to the floor. “Let me just get a new shirt.”

“Well, I was thinking I might tend to your wings. My dear, they have seen better days and I’d like to help.” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead, he stepped over to the bed and patted it with his free hand. Crowley did as he was asked and sat up on the bed wings spread across the sheets. “There we are. I promise I’ll be gentle and quite quick about this as dinner does smell scrummy.”

Crowley felt the bed dip as Aziraphale sat down behind him. He set down a brush he’d found, as well as a damp flannel. “This won’t hurt a bit my dear. Do be still now.” He began at the top of the wings near his shoulders and brushed them lightly with his fingertips. Crowley shuddered a bit. “Did I hurt you, Crowley?”

“Mmm… no, it’s just, well… demons wings are a bit of an… ah… let’s just say it feels very nice when they’re touched.”

Aziraphale stopped to consider what he was saying. “Oh, so they’re an erogenous area you mean?” Crowley looked over his shoulder eyebrow raised. “I do read, you know! Now hold still.” He took up the damp flannel and quickly brushed over each wing to dampen them. Next, he took up the brush and gently stroked each wing back into place. He felt Crowley shudder under his touch and heard the occasional moan spring from the demon’s mouth.

Crowley was having some difficulty controlling himself. In fact, he was seconds from either pouncing on the angel or running from the room. He tried to focus on the music playing in the kitchen. Crowley turned it on in his room and doubled back to his favorite tune from the show. The slow mournful melodies of ‘Memory’ began to play again as Aziraphale worked. But it was no use, his trousers became impossibly tight with every touch of the angel’s fingers.

“Angel, I need you to stop, please.”

“Am I hurting you, my dear?”

“No, quite the opposite actually.” Crowley shifted uncomfortably on the bed and turned to face Aziraphale. “Your… well… see for yourself.” He looked down at the very obvious outline of his erection in his trousers.

Aziraphale turned a bit pink when he looked down. But he was also rather curious and a mischievous grin crossed his face. “Well, may I tempt you to something further?” Without permission he reached out and brushed his hand lightly over the bulge in Crowley’s trousers, looking up through his eyelashes as he heard Crowley hiss from the contact.

“Angel…”

“Please, my dear boy, let me.”

Crowley nodded and tucked his wings away as he leaned back on his elbows. 

Aziraphale left the bed to strip down to his own trousers. “There we are. Now, where was I?” He crawled up Crowley’s body brushing his chest against Crowley’s ending with kissing him long and slowly on the lips. He smiled against the demon’s lips as he heard him groan at the contact. Aziraphale kissed down Crowley’s neck to his chest. He moved lower down his belly until he was met with Crowley’s ridiculous serpent buckled belt. “May I?”

Crowley nodded and closed his eyes once again half focusing on the music.

_”Sunlight through the trees in summer_  
Endless masquerading  
Like a flower, as the day is breaking  
The memory is fading…” 

Aziraphale slowly slipped the belt from the loops and tossed it to the floor. Then he went for the snap and zipper and eased them over Crowley’s hips which was no easy task given how tight the damn things were. In fact, he was rather surprised to find black briefs under them. They would have to go. He removed them without much trouble. Though he noted that Crowley’s eyes were firmly shut, so he couldn’t tell if he was actually enjoying himself (he was) or not.

What Crowley was doing was trying to not discorporate with every touch of Aziraphale’s hands. He was also trying to focus on the lyrics in the song and willing the angel to do as the song said.

_Touch me_  
It's so easy to leave me  
All alone with my memory  
Of my days in the sun  
If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is…” 

Suddenly and very gently Crowley felt hands brushing up his thighs. He sucked in a breath and threw his head back. Then light breath on his flesh, followed by a tongue licking up his shaft and circling his head. His eyes fluttered open slightly to see the angel, his angel, taking him slowly and methodically into his mouth. It was almost enough to make him climax. 

But then Aziraphale sat up straddling Crowley’s legs and reaching for his own trouser buckle and zipper. “Would you be a love and roll onto your belly?”

“I was rather enjoying what you were doing just then.” He reached for Aziraphale.

“I could tell. Now if you’d roll over and let me continue to make love you please?”

Crowley nearly broke at his words. Yes, he knew that Aziraphale said he loved him. Multiple times, sometimes multiple times a day. But hearing him say he wanted to make love to him was nearly too much. Yet somehow he managed to do as he was asked and rolled to his belly. 

Aziraphale slowly slid up Crowley’s back to place a kiss behind his ear and then dropped gentle kisses down the demon’s back. Crowley felt that the angel was now as naked as he was, and he shivered again. “Up on your knees, my dear.” Aziraphale lightly tapped Crowley on his bare behind.

Crowley obeyed and again closed his eyes in a sort of silent prayer or plea for more. He heard a cap snap shut and then sucked in a breath as he felt the angel’s fingers slowly press into him, one followed by another slowly, deftly.******** His head dropped and his knees threatened to buckle at the sensation. Once again as he was about to come, he again found his source of pleasure removed. Crowley pushed back towards Aziraphale, searching for more. He whimpered when he was met with nothing.

“Patience, my dear boy. Good things come to those who wait.” Crowley muttered something about not liking her much and Aziraphale chuckled. “Now she always liked you. But that’s for another time. I do promise to be gentle, my love. When you’re ready then.”

“Pleasse Aziraphale, pleassse.” He begged.

“Do let me know if I hurt you, yes?” Aziraphale took himself in hand and gently pushed into Crowley. It was absolute bliss, like being encased in velvet. Slowly he moved in and out until he found a rhythm that suited them both. “Yes, that’s it. You are so beautiful, Crowley. Did you know that? I don’t think you do, but you should. I hope this shows you a fraction of how beautiful you truly are.”

Tears stung Crowley’s eyes as he listened to what Aziraphale told him. Words he’d longed to hear for so many years, from the person he had wanted to hear them from. It was all too much and yet not enough at the same time. The words coupled with their matched rhythm was almost too much for Crowley. “Aziraphale…”

“Yes, love? I need to hear you say it.”

“Love me, pleassse?”

Aziraphale quickened his pace when he heard the words he had hoped to hear from Crowley for some time. “Yes, yes!” He reached around and wrapped his hand around Crowley’s erection and stroked him. It shouldn’t have been possible, but divine miracles were just that divine. “Come with me, my love.” and they did together as if they were one. They both collapsed on the bed a tangle of limbs.

Crowley shifted to his back and pulled Aziraphale to his chest. “Thank you, angel.”

“For?”

“For loving me, for…for showing me I’m deserving of it.”

Aziraphale smiled into Crowley’s chest. “You always have been, my dear, always. You just needed me to show you I guess.”

Crowley pulled him tighter to his chest and wrapped his arms tighter around him. “I believe it’s my turn though.”

“Oh, for what?”

“To show you how much I love you.” He dropped a kiss on Aziraphale’s curly head. 

“There’s plenty of time for that Crowley. I think for now I’d like to try sleep. It sounds decadent. When we wake, I have some ideas for that scrummy dessert you were attempting. Gâteau St Honoré, I believe it was? When did we have that last?”

"Paris, 1850 at the Chiboust bakery on Rue Saint-Honoré." Crowley responded, then smiled and brushed his hand up and down the angel’s back lulling him to sleep in minutes. To be honest, Crowley wasn’t far behind. With a contented sigh, he drifted off to sleep with his love wrapped in his arms knowing full well that when they woke a new day would begin. 

*Don’t get too excited reader. It’s a simple honey mustard dressing available at any grocer.  
**Who do you think created an app to tempt you to try so many ridiculous things that never came out the way it did in photos? He’d gotten a commendation for that one.  
***Good luck - https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/gteau_st_honor_27070/amp  
****Not that he HAD to breathe…he was a demon after all.  
*****I’m tired just typing up bits of how to assemble the Opera Cake. Give it a go here https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/opera_cake_04536  
******Have you met Crowley…the boy really needs a therapist or a good shag. Both. Both would be good.  
*******Don’t judge there’s a reason for it and you’ll like it I promise.  
********Whoops wrong musical…

**Author's Note:**

> As always I love kudos and comments. If you have suggestions for additional tales for the series drop them in the comments or find me on Twitter @GeekOnCaffeine.


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